The Things We Do for Freedom
by MostDefinitelyFlorentine
Summary: Because every suffering soul must fight to be free. The conclusion of The Things We Do Series, after The Things We Do for Love and The Things We Do for Hate. Hal/Maggie.
1. Prologue

Prologue:

I lean back in my chair and gaze at the picture unfolding in front of me. I stare at the children, playing in the late evening sun, basking in their blissful ignorance of all that happened so long ago. Someday they will learn, but not now. I shall allow them a tiny bit of freedom to imagine the generations that came before them with an untrained eye that does not search for imperfections and horror, but sees only beauty and love.

I glance over at her, watching her sleep soundly in the seat next to me, gray hair falling over her eyes. Soon she will awaken and resume her quiet lifestyle, attempting to mask the dark thoughts that still linger in the back of her mind, but now, she is immersed in her own dream world, away from the nightmares that so often invade her mind. She thinks she has everyone fooled into believing that she's absolutely fine, but not me. No, never me.

My eyes are locked on the immortal beauty of my love's face. Even in age, she hasn't lost the mischievous glint in her eye when she feels like breaking the rules or the way she looks at me when she's knows I'm keeping something from her, like a surprise or a secret. No, she can't fool me and I can't fool her.

I tear my gaze away from her and look at the children, this time with a face full of pity. They have no idea what their past contains. When the time comes they will know the full story—now, though, their happy cries echo in the warm summer air, running about, doing things I wish I could still do but cannot, due to the stiff hand of age that grasps me now. They debate the possibility of aliens from another planet, saying how amazing it would be if such things existed; however, upon hearing the story that has been told so many times, they will be glad that they don't have to deal with extraterrestrials.

I chuckle as I remember the events that have been branded into my mind, so vivid that they could have taken place just yesterday. Soon the details will be relayed to the young ones that are so lucky to have not been there.

With a heavy heart, I sigh and close my eyes, ready to relive the entire ordeal.


	2. Meeting of the Minds

Ben was welcomed into the 2nd Mass after his… ah, _original_ return, shall we say. I'm not going to say that I was completely at ease with his presence, though. I was still keeping a watchful eye on Maggie.

"Don't worry about me," she kept saying. "He was being controlled—but now, since he doesn't have the spikes anymore, how could he still be under their power?"

I had to admit, she had a point, but that wasn't going to stop me from being careful. I tried to not let what happened get between my relationship with my brother, but it was hard. More than hard. It was near impossible.

"So," I said. "You're back, with no spikes to speak of, and a foolproof way of defeating the skitters?" We were gathered around a map in the command tent with my dad, Dai, Captain Weaver, and Cleo. That girl would not unstick herself from Ben's side. It was like she was some sort of parasite, sucking the life out of him, only with the opposite effect. He was fuller of life than ever, which made me even more suspicious.

"I'm not going to say it's foolproof, Hal," he began matter-of-factly. It bothered me that he now seemed to hold more respect and power than I did. He was my little brother, for cryin' out loud. "The Overlord was delirious from pain and fever, but it worked with the mechs and it should work with the beamers, too."

Dai still looked skeptical. "But now we have another problem. The skitters are living beings—a simple code won't deactivate _them_. And what about when they start suspecting something's wrong? Can't they just change the code?" he asked, and Ben's face fell. He clearly hadn't thought this far.

"Yeah," I said, "And if they can be deactivated, they can be activated again. A skitter can just come along and"—

"Nope," Ben interrupted, grinning. "That's where you're wrong. As soon as I pressed enter on the keypad, a hidden capsule of acid burst and melted the keys together. It would be physically impossible to touch it and bring the mech back to life."

"Well then, that's one problem solved," said Dad, who had previously been keeping quiet. "But it still doesn't help with the others."

We were silent for a single moment, deep in thought. Weaver was staring at Dad with that _wow-you-really-must-be-stupid_ look on his face, causing Dad to be roused from his thoughts. "Well, isn't it obvious?" demanded Weaver, educing blank looks from us.

"It doesn't take a rocket surgeon to figure it out, people!" he said, still with that patronizing expression. He pounded the table with his fist, causing everyone to jump.

"Rocket surgeon?" murmured Ben, eliciting a nervous giggle from Cleo, who was still clinging shyly to his overcoat. I glared at them, and they fell silent with chastised looks on their faces. _Oh, suddenly, I'm the adult here._

"Just tell us, Dan," Dad said exasperatedly. "We're not mind readers."

"Well," huffed Weaver, "It's simple. We lure as many mechs as we can over here, cripple them with our best snipers, and punch in the code. The skitters clearly can't change it because they won't freaking know until it's too late. Besides, there's that thing with the acid. And we all know that the skitters are pretty much worthless without the mechs to hide behind."

You could have heard a pin drop in the deafening silence.

"Er, well, then…" muttered Dad. "I guess this meeting is over."

"Damn right it is," grumbled Weaver. "And about time, too." He shuffled to the entrance of the tent. "Now who's up for some tuna fish?"

There was a collective murmur of assent, and I left to go find Maggie. She deserved some tuna fish after such a long day.


	3. What We Miss, or, On the Rooftop

**A/N: Writing this chapter gave me feels. So much, in fact, that now I need to go eat some chocolate ice cream. That's all I'm going to say.**

All of the fighters from the 2nd Mass, including Ben which, of course, meant Cleo too, were sitting around a large campfire outside, with civilians still running around doing who-knows-what and darkness falling rapidly from beyond the confines of the camp borders. People were smiling and laughing, as they should, and talking about happy things.

The mood was light and merry, and even I, amidst the constant worry, still managed to unwind with the others.

"You know what I miss?" said Dai. "Mexican food." Naturally he was talking about pre-invasion, because we didn't get many enchiladas in the 2nd Mass.

"Whoa, man," I said. "Thai food totally trumps Mexican. Think about it—would you rather have tacos, or that peanut chicken served with the sweet sauce?" Several others muttered words of agreement, but some were just too tired to put in any effort at conversation.

"Nope, still sticking with Mexican," he replied good-naturedly.

"While we're on the subject," said Maggie, with a rare glint in her eyes. "What about music? You know, as long as we're going with that wishful-thinking stuff." She brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ears, waiting for our answers.

"I always like Matchbox 20," I said. "They were mostly popular back in the 90's."

"Yeah," said Ben. "You know, I kind of thought they were going to make a comeback. But then, the invasion happened…"

My blood turned to ice. I didn't like talking about the invasion. Still don't. I was thankful when my Dad raised the volume on his conversation with Captain Weaver.

"Rolling Stones, by far! How could you say anything otherwise?!"

"The Beatles are obviously the greatest music group of the 20th century…"

But that too got lost among a sea of others' voices.

I turned to Maggie, who was not speaking, her temporary lighthearted mood now long gone. She was staring off into space with that maddeningly unreadable expression that she seems to love so much. Things had been kind of awkward since the night that she began her recovery—we hadn't spoken much at all.

"Hey," I murmured, nudging her arm with mine. "What's going on?"

She looked up at me, and I noticed then the sadness in her eyes. I guess that all the talk about the simple things that we all took for granted made her miss some of them, or maybe she was sad for a different reason. Either way, I took this as a hint.

"Come on," I whispered, and took her by the hand. "I know a place where we can go."

I led her up to the rooftop of one of the old, neglected buildings on the outskirts of camp. Thinking back, I don't know exactly why I took her there—it just felt right. It must have been an office building of some sort, I think now, damning my fading memory. It was someplace with a wide expanse of roof, that allowed for a sweeping view of the sprawling landscape, dotted with trees and, regrettably, some dead bodies. I tried not to look at those.

Maggie stared at her feet, one hand still on her gun. Ever since she recovered from her injury, it was pretty darn near impossible to tear her away from that thing. It was almost disturbing, in a way.

She looked up at me, and I noticed that she had that look that meant she was about to say something. I moved closer to her, the heat of her nearby body warming mine.

"What is it?" I asked hesitantly. "Is something wrong? Is Ben making you feel uncomfortable?"

She appeared surprised that I even mentioned my brother's name.

"No, that's not it… well, not really."

"Then what?" I saw worry lines etch themselves onto her face as she answered me.

"It's about… the other night, about a week ago, when I got shot." I opened my mouth to interrupt, but she lifted a single finger up to hush me.

"I saw a lot of things that night. My life literally flashed before my eyes, and I'm not exaggerating."

She paused, waiting for me to catch up. It took a while. She went on:

"There was something about when I heard you calling me back—and yes, I remember that," she added, in response to the radish-red color of my face.

"There was something about coming back from my… trance, sleep, whatever you want to call it, that didn't feel quite right." She could see that I was confused, but chose to ignore it.

"I don't think… that I was supposed to come back that night. Something happened, and I don't know what, so don't ask me, but everything feels off and I can't figure out exactly what. Something is wrong."

I gaped at her in shock. _How could she say something like that? Of course she's supposed to be here, she—_

"Hal, I think I was meant to die," she finished, gritting her teeth, with fresh, rare tears shining in her eyes.

In the spur of the moment, and in my frustration with the cruel world, and my goddamned love for Maggie, I leapt forward and seized her face between my hands, and kissed her with everything I had, trying to convince her. When our lips part, I stood there, still holding her head close to mine.

"That's what was wrong," I breathed.


	4. The Seed of an Idea

There was a tangible feeling in the air the next day—almost like the smell of the changing leaves in September, or the gut instinct that you had right before April hit that told you spring was coming. It was the dead of winter in our camp, and far from being anything else. But there was that intuition that super-charged all of us, pushing us through the slow, bleak morning and into the afternoon. In all my life I would never quite have the same feeling.

And it was not wasted, for every single civilian and fighter in the 2nd Mass was toiling endlessly on whatever their assigned task was; more effort was put into work today due to the nature of our next gathering. And hard work, in any case (according to Captain Weaver) was time well spent. Once again Dad, Ben (plus Cleo—that girl seriously needed to get a life), Weaver, and I found ourselves in the meeting tent, along with Anthony and Anne. But this time we were all bending over a map of the area, and with a single red pen and some already furrowed brows we were all set for battle plans.

"So we can station a unit just off the river in case they send any more mechs that way, so they can be fended off from there," muttered Weaver to no one in particular, tapping a blob on the map with the pen.

"But what about that spot right there?" was Dad's reply. "We can't just leave the west entrance unguarded!"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Hey!"

All conversations ceased as we swiveled around to see Maggie at the tent's entrance. She was a wild sight, with her hair in tangles and leaves sticking to her clothes. There was a smudge of dirt right by her nose that I had a strong desire to wipe away. Then kiss her. But that was off-topic, anyway.

"Have all of you idiots forgotten the kid's 'secret weapon' or whatever? You don't have to make the battle planning such a big deal! Just go around to every mech you see and punch in that code that Weaver here—" she gestured towards him—"has made sure that we all have branded into our brains like a hot-iron poker?"

"Oh," I said, a turnip-red blush creeping up my neck. _Damn, now I feel stupid. _"Right, the codes."

"But that requires a whole other attack plan, one that we're not used to at all," interjected Ben. "This might just end up being twice as difficult as a normal battle."

"You're completely correct, Ben, this ain't gonna be easy," Weaver growled, only half to himself.

Dad wondered out loud about how long this would take us. "Well, it depends, Tom," replied Captain Weaver quietly. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

That was when I remembered something. I swear, if I had a working lightbulb (which, of course, I didn't), then I would have been holding it up over my head. The information Ben scored us wasn't foolproof, but this certainly was.

Maggie peered at my face in that peculiar way she does. "You're onto something, aren't you?" she whispered with a cunning smile. I nodded ever so slightly and cleared my throat.

I grabbed a spare pen and studied the map. "I think you might want to hear this, folks…"

**A/N: I know… TROLOLOLOLOLLLLL. And I'm sorry if this upsets some of you. I kind of do this thing where I write and I post and I write some more and I post some more… and then I go off the radar for like a week and a half. But, you know, maybe if I got some o' dem reviews I might be spurred to update faster… just a thought.**

**Anyway, thanks for all the reviews that I do have, and y'all know that I love you like I love food… which is, to say, a whole darned lot. **


	5. It Ends Tonight

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys. I'll try not to let this happen again. I've got maybe two more chapters after this, and then I'm done with the series. I have an ending all worked out, and hopefully it'll satisfy you all. **

That morning I woke to a moody, overcast day that matched the moods of all the soldiers gathered around the weapons tent in our little camp, suiting up for the fight.

"You really think this is going to work?" Maggie asked me as she donned her newly-scavenged bullet-proof vest.

"Maybe," I replied uncertainly. She turned to me.

"Because if it doesn't, we screwed… for good."

"Yeah, I know."

And I did know. I just couldn't help myself from feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong that day. I just didn't want to admit it.

Battle plans had been completed the previous day—now all we had to do was fight. We ran the projector last night, showing an old black-and-white classic, to boost everyone's morale. We laughed and joked for the hour and a half that it took to run the movie, but as soon as the credits were rolling, it was all doom and gloom at the prospect of the upcoming battle.

In just an hour, my plan would be set into motion. Right now, I was just praying to whatever god that's left out there that this plan works.

"Hal…" she started. I held up one hand to stop her.

"Don't—I know what you're about to say. I know we'll both be coming back. This is a foolproof plan. It's got to work."

She nodded solemnly and turned back to help Lourdes load the medical supplies into one of the pickup trucks. She'd be serving as battlefield medic, with Dr. Glass staying behind for when the causalities come, because everyone is so sure they will.

I remember thinking how astonishing, that in the course of only about ten days, we'd gone from normal — fighting nonstop, raiding supermarkets and trying to stay alive—to an experience that was most definitely not normal at all. We have hope now, but something told me that all that hope had to be balanced out. Maybe that's why, when I looked around me, that every soul looks bleak. It seems too good to be true, and we're waiting for the moment when we realize that this is just another failed attempt.

Call it foreshadowing.

"Hey, Pope," I called, jogging to where he was working, tools laid out on a tree stump.

"It's all ready, if that's what you're wondering," he said, lifting the object in one hand and showing me. It didn't look like much, that's for sure. Just a few gears and a makeshift keypad wired together, held by a thin plastic shell taken and melted down from a couple of lunch trays from a neighboring school.

"This had better work," I said, anxiety gnawing at my insides. Pope took on a mock indignant look and sneered, "I made it. It's gonna work."

"Well, I hope you're right. Because if it doesn't, you'll be paying big-time. And I'm not talking about currency or ammo." I threatened. If this was anyone else, I might have felt bad for threatening physical harm. But not with Pope. He had, shall we say, a colorful past with my girl, Maggie.

"Come on, everybody! Heading out!" came Weaver's booming command from just outside his tent. "Let's finish this!"

We cheered, caught up in the moment when we let hope rule ourselves and lifted our hearts. I made eye contact with Ben. He nodded and smiled ever so slightly, and sadly. I noticed that he wasn't with Cleo.

I gazed at the soldiers in front of me, the ones I was in charge of, and I gripped my gun tightly.

"Tonight," I said, "It ends."


	6. The East Side of the River

**A/N: Woo-hoo, look at me with this next chapter. This is technically the last chapter of the story, but I have a kinda-sorta epilogue after this. I hope that none of you will threaten to strangle me once you finish this chapter. *Nervous smile* I did what I thought was necessary.**

Gunshots and sounds of battle were all around me, leaving my ears ringing and adrenaline pumping. Blood stained the grass that I ran on, but I kept moving, not wanting to think about whose blood it was.

I ran to the east side of the river, keeping watch for more troops. We had an entire army of mechs come from the south and west, and that was where the majority of our fighters were. I would guard from the east, and Ben from the north.

Pope took his device to the mech base, which we had surrounded. Skitters came by the dozen, but none lasted long while we had soldiers ripping them apart.

The plan was as such: hold off the skitters and mechs until sundown, when Pope would activate the device that, when Ben's code was put in, would cause all the mechs and any skitters nearby to blow sky-high. I'm still not sure of how exactly the device worked, but Pope said that it would.

It was quiet by the river, with just the faint rushing noise of the water and the breeze through the trees. It reminded me of before the invasion, when Dad took me fishing during the summer. I was only about seven when he first took me to his special spot. I plopped down on the sand by the bank and learned quickly how to run the line through the pole and put bait on the end. The live worms never made me squeamish. I wish I could say the same for Ben.

It was just Dad and me and nature, sitting there waiting for time to pass or to catch a fish. I waited and waited for one to come along, but by the time an hour had passed in musing silence, I still had caught none.

I was beginning to get upset. What was I doing wrong? Why wouldn't a fish come? Dad calmly explained to me that, no, I was not doing anything wrong, and that it would take a while for me to snag my first fish.

I protested that I had already sat there for a long time, and he could see that I was still not at ease. Then he sat me on his lap and said something that I would never forget and still remember to this day as if it had happened this morning. He said, "Son, sometimes the best things in life are worth waiting for."

And sure enough, with patience came fish by the bucketful. I was delighted.

But I would always remember what he said.

Screams arouse me from my daydreaming and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I ran toward the screaming and found Tector and a woman, both covered in sweat, dirt, and skitter blood, calling to me and saying something.

When they finally got close enough for me to hear, Tector spoke up, saying, "Hal! There's a whole shitload of mechs coming in from the north. Pope's getting ready to activate the device and send them aliens sky-high."

The north. Ben.

"Have you seen Ben?" I asked frantically.

He shook his head. "Nope. Sorry, man. Better hope he gets away before Pope explodes every #!*% thing."

I didn't stick around for a moment longer. I sprinted past fallen troops and the occasional twitching skitter, but I did not notice the absolute carnage. Later, I would come to wonder exactly what went on as I reminisced about my childhood instead of fighting.

I saw the quickly moving silhouette of Ben on the horizon as he jumped on the back of a mech. He ripped the control panel off, trying to type in the override code.

"Stay back, Hal!" Pope yelled from far to my right. "Imma blow this thing!"

"_NO!_" I screamed, running as fast as my lungs would allow and faster in a desperate attempt to reach him before—

_BOOM._


	7. Epilogue: The Things We Do for Freedom

**A/N: I just wanted to say to all of you, thank you for sticking with me on this. It was pretty darned difficult writing the entire series after TWDL, when I foolishly (as I thought then) promised two more. But I fulfilled my promise, didn't I? **

**So this one's for all of you. All the ones who were with me from the beginning.**

**LET ME LOVE YOU.**

We didn't achieve freedom that day. My plan was flawed, and I lost a brother. I will never forgive myself for that.

It was only after countless battles and losses that the aliens retreated back from whence they came. As my late father once said, sometimes the best things in life are worth waiting for. But that is another story, for another time.

I am grateful for the life I have led, with my beautiful wife here beside me. My beautiful Margaret. I lean over and pat her thinning white hair like I used to in the early days of our freedom.

My only regret is that we all missed out on a childhood. We had to fight, and work, and just try to survive. I long for the days when my biggest problem was fighting over what channel to watch with Ben on Saturday mornings.

I fear that if these children know what happened so long ago, that somehow part of their innocence will be gone forever. And childlike innocence is something that should be cherished while one still can.

Someday, far from today, they will know. When they are ready.

We never gave up hope in the struggle.

"_Hal, stop!"_

"_It's no use!"_

_It was as if someone had put cotton in my ears. Everything was muffled, everything was numb._

"_He's gone, Hal."_

_I saw, if only for a quick, fleeting moment, the mangled body of my younger brother as they dragged his remains away from the site of the battle. We won, I later learned. But if we lost Ben, then that does not count as winning anything._

_Somebody helped me back to camp. I do not know who. Captain Weaver stood on the roof of one of our trucks, addressing the survivors._

_Survivors._

_I should not be one of them._

_He said, "Men, I know we lost many today…"_

_Murmurs of saddened agreement traveled through the too-small crowd, with grievances heavy on everyone's shoulders._

"…_But we must have hope." Ha._

"_We can win the fight."_

_No. No, we can't._

"_We WILL win the fight."_

_Said with so much conviction._

"_But we have nowhere to go from here!" shouted one of the fighters. _

"_We do," is Weaver's reply. "We have a place to go." He motions to the fighter that called out. "Look on at the horizon, over there. What do you see?"_

_The sun was setting just below the trees as we all turned to watch it._

"_Now, turn south."_

_We did so._

"_I said we have one last hope."_

"_And what might that be?" I called._

_He faced me, meeting my eyes for a nanosecond before replying._

"_Charleston."_

I used to think that freedom was a simple concept, like love is for some or fierce, abstract passion is for others. But freedom is not just freedom. It is made up of so many different things that add up to more than can be put to paper.

Take love, for instance. If I had no love for Maggie or Ben or the 2nd Mass, then where would I be? I would have nothing to hold onto, nothing to call my own. Love is a force of nature, just like a hurricane or a tornado, only much stronger. I would not do anything for love, though. It would be unwise to have such thoughts.

And what about hate? If I had not hated the skitters since the minute I watched my mother die before me, then I would not have killed half the aliens I did. But I do not let hate rule me, control my emotions, like Ben. Hate was all he had in the end. And his pure, unadulterated hate was what got him killed.

Freedom means something different to everyone, whether it is freedom from conformity or control, or even freedom from what we call life. But what is freedom, truly? I do not know, even after working so hard for it.

I still work to free Maggie from her demons, to free myself from haunting memories. I suppose you could say that I am obsessed with freedom. And someday, that may be my own death. But we all have a passion, and we all have that one thing that drives us to do unthinkable things.

For me, it is the things we do for freedom.

"It does not take a majority to prevail... but rather an irate, tireless minority, keen on setting brushfires of freedom in the minds of men."  
**Samuel Adams **

Fin.


End file.
